Page 17 of Healer
“How far are we from the settlement?” I asked when Hakkar tilted his head curiously after I’d stared at him like a giddy teenager for a few minutes.
“Another few days.” His eyes cast about the landscape before glancing at my feet. “I can carry you if you like,” he offered. It was an honest offer with no ulterior motive. He’d carry me just to make my trip easier.
“I’m fine,” I smiled. “I don’t know what that machine of yours did, but I feel great.” It wasn’t just lip service.
If the drug he gave me made me feel like running the Peachtree Road Race, the machine made me feel like I could win it. Not even an errant pebble digging into my heel caused much discomfort. I fisted my hands again for good measure, grinning at the strength in my fingers.
Hopefully, the Medi-machine’s relief would last until the real healing could begin. I knew the basics of gene therapy, although I never used it in my practice. As medical procedures evolved, it became a fairly straightforward process. Identifying the abnormal gene, duplicating that gene in a pristine state, and inserting the duplicated gene to repair or replace the abnormal gene. Of course, in vivo gene therapy had its drawbacks, mainly the side effects of fever, severe chills, drop in blood pressure, nausea, vomiting, and headaches, not unlike the aftereffects of chemo or radiation treatments.
I knew full well the pain a well-meaning treatment could inflict on a body.
More than once, I’d had to duck into a supply closet to hide my tears over a recovering child bravely weathering pain that would make an adult scream. Whatever the side effects... to be rid of ALS, I’d bear it. However, I would like to know what to expect—this was alien medical technology, after all.
“So how hard do you think it will be to remove the ALS from my genetic code?” I asked casually as Hakkar turned us inland, following a small game path.
He frowned in concentration for a moment. “I’m hoping not so difficult with the Garoot Healer. Although I must confess, I have never performed a treatment such as this. My experience lies mostly with battle injury, but I have genetic manipulation techniques in my memory files.”
“Files?”
The word struck me as funny until I remembered that his education came in the form of an upload containing medical procedures for over a thousand different species. Not to mention the over six thousand Earth languages he learned and who knew how many alien languages. Just how much information did he have swimming around in that handsome head of his?
“What’s it like having all that knowledge uploaded into your brain?” I asked with sincere curiosity. After my first year of medical school, my head felt near to bursting with facts.
“Full. My head ached for months after the upload,” Hakkar said with a chuckle. I liked his laugh. It was deep, throaty, and just the tiniest bit raspy—sexy.
Get a grip, Agnes!
My focus shifted to the path ahead. The dirt track was wide enough for us to walk side by side, which meant that Hakkar’s hand brushed mine every so often. I convinced myself that the tingles were merely a result of the healing machine.
“I can imagine,” I commiserated. “My head hurt from all the studying I did in med school, and I only had to learn about one species.”
Hakkar pushed a thorny branch away from the trail, waiting until I passed without incident before continuing. “Part of our training includes categorizing the information we receive. We spend a year learning how to store and retrieve theinformation in our brains. Some cannot handle the upload and fail.”
I didn’t ask what he meant byfail. I gleaned all I needed from his downcast expression.
“How do you do it?” I pressed, fascinated.
Hakkar shrugged. “What I need regularly stays in the forefront of my memory. Other things, like genetic manipulation procedures, I recall by using meditation techniques.”
“On Earth, we use meditation to clear our brains,” I told him. “You use it to fill yours.”
“True,” Hakkar grinned. “Do you recall much of your training?”
“All of it,” I sighed wistfully. “Although I liked surgery training most. You practice the techniques over and over until they become muscle memory.” As I spoke, my fingers moved through the steps of a portal vein resection. Despite it being over twenty years since I held a scalpel, my fingers repeated the process perfectly without the first hint of stiffness.
I came out of the reverie to find Hakkar staring at me, a most curious expression on his handsome face.
“What?”
The golden eyes softened as he gazed at me. “The look on your face. You loved surgery.”
“I did,” I admitted without the least hesitation. “Surgery always felt like what I was born to do. It broke my heart to give it up.”
“Why did you stop?”
In answer, I raised my hands, wiggling fingers that complied much better than the last time I’d held a scalpel.
Hakkar stepped closer, covering my hands with his. “You will perform surgery again, Agnes. I promise.”
